Cooking for life

I haven’t told you yet about a friend of mine, a beautiful lady, happy, light, colourful. She has lived a life full of beautiful people and beautiful stories that she generously shares with me, writing them down as the words flow into her hand, unedited. I love it.

Chicken breast fried in the oil from the top of an olive jar, green Koroneiki olives preserved with wild fennel. I got really lucky finding this jar in the Greek shop in Lemiers, beautifully located in the Limburgish hills, a little west of Aachen.

She tells me about her husband, her children and grandchildren, the neighbours, family visiting, her worldwide experiences as an engineer, travelling, living in different places. She sends me pictures of her art, the blanket she quilted for her grandson, the suitcase she painted with palm trees in order to recognize it easily on the luggage belt at the airport.

I then added the green tops of some leeks and some of the Koroneiki olives with a little of their preserving juices. I lowered the heat to let it all stew and let the leak wilt a little bit.

When I write her, she never lets me have dark thoughts, or complify things. Life can be lived in daily rituals, in physical rather than nervous activities, in family and friends, the colours, rhythms and flavours of the world and in bringing everything your trust and smile. I love that about her.

I continued adding some chopped tomatoes from a tin (Depending on the brand and season, where I’m located, they often have a richer flavour than the fresh ones.). I also added a little more olive brine left over from Kalamata olives, as it turned out to be difficult to get more brine from underneath the oil out of the Koroneiki jar.

My friend lives in the Middle East, an area at war right now, horrible to the extent there are no words for it. Crossing the European continent to a country in unrest, yet at peace, I broke my shoulder. There is no way to compare our situations, and yet our therapy seems to be the same. We cook. We make photos. And we send them to each other, together with their accompanying stories.

After turning the chicken once or twice I removed it in order not to overcook it. Breast becomes tough very quickly (I would actually recommend using thighs for this specific preparation, as they resist to the cooking a bit more and enrich the flavour of the sauce with their slightly darker and fattier bits.). After letting the leeks stew enough with the lid on, I added the broccoli to warm through and also the little water I used for steaming them for more flavour.

She tells me about the market, the guests at her table, how to make the tahina. I make the tahina, then add it to an aubergine chickpea stew. Send her a one-arm salad that I flourished with lemon zest and crushed lavender buds. She sends me a smiley with red hearts for eyes.

Finally, I added the breast back to the pan to gently warm back up a bit.

They are messages of peace and joy and hope. Of faith in the vitality of the world and of the conviction to nourish yourself with love and beauty, always. To honour the past, to celebrate the present, and to create the future the way we long it to be.

I served the dish with a little more fresh oilve oil from the Koroneiki jar and some freshly ground pepper.

“To worry is unhealthy.”
“And don’t forget to smile a lot, it definitely helps.” 
Her messages make me smile. 
“Always,” I reply.

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